Dexter's Haunting Page 6
“Julian.”
I stopped pacing.
“You’re babbling.”
“I know.”
“You really like that place, don’t you? Not just the house, but the town. Everything.”
“I do.”
Another long pause. I never realized how good at those long pauses Mace was.
“What happened to tearing it down and all that?” He sounded amused. I wasn’t surprised. I was always a little wishy-washy.
“I changed my mind?”
He chuckled. “Apparently.”
“Look, I can try to get a little extra on the loan for the shop to pay you back on the house if—”
“Jules. It’s okay. I’m fine with it.”
“Yeah?”
“Just like you said to me, I want you to be happy. As you also said, I was moving there in the first place to make you happy. I told you before you could take your time with the money. And as for the shop, I’d love to still sell my paintings, Jules. If anyone can make it work, it’s you. I believe in you.”
Tears sprung to my eyes. “You’re way better than I ever deserved, Mace.”
“We’ve both made mistakes. Yet I don’t have time to deal with this now—this case is a mess. But when I do have time, I’ll come up and we can sign papers, or whatever you need, and take care of it. In the meantime, I don’t want you to worry about anything.”
“Like I said, you are way too good. But thank you. So much.”
“You’re welcome. Listen, I have to go, but we’ll talk again soon. All right?”
“Yes. Bye, Mace.” And I ended the call, feeling better about him and the house, and my future plans.
But not better about what I would have to do about Dexter.
Chapter 9
I wasn’t at all surprised when Dex found me sitting in the gazebo. I’d gone there after my talk with Mace and eating something. It still looked exactly as it had during my vision of Owen and Mace together during the party.
Maybe it should have felt creepy or disturbing or something, but I felt at peace sitting here. I really did love this house. This place. I sensed no malevolence here as one might expect in a haunted location. Dexter proved a positive influence, even if he should’ve never had to linger here this long.
“Can I show you something?” he asked after a moment of sitting beside me in silence.
“Another vision?”
“Yes, but an unpleasant one.”
“What do you want to show me, Dex?”
He didn’t answer, but turned to me with a sad little smile. And I knew. I suddenly found myself observing—or perhaps taking part in, I wasn’t sure—the argument with Sam Wentworth…
Sam stood taller than Owen, still handsome for a man who must have been in his mid to late sixties. He wore a suit, no tie, and the shirt opened at the throat.
Owen wore nothing but swim trunks and stood beside a small table that bore a big glass pitcher filled with water and a few glasses that matched.
“You have to think of your family, Owen.”
Owen laughed. “My family? What about them?”
“Think of what this”—he derisively gestured to the house and the yard—”is doing to them.”
“What’s it doing?”
“This is not normal. In fact, it’s abnormal. Men don’t live with other men like this.”
Owen’s lip curled as he poured himself a glass of water. “In fact, they do.”
“But it’s unnatural. Your father is disgusted.”
“He’s never particularly approved of me, Sam.”
“Maybe. But the rumors. Your poor mother.”
“Don’t bring my mother into this.”
“Someone has to! You’re flaunting this lifestyle in everyone’s face. Others are starting to ostracize your parents. And maybe you don’t care about your dad, but surely you care about what it’s doing to your mother. To your sisters and brothers.”
Owen sipped the water. “They can take care of themselves.”
“Are you that much of a selfish bastard that you don’t care about anyone else? You fucking around with Dexter Larabee like this is deplorable. You’re ruining the lives of your family, and for what? Some degenerate actor?”
“Don’t talk about Dex like that.”
“And what about Dexter? Does his career not matter to you either? He’s not going to get to make films if you continue this way. He’ll be blacklisted.”
“Doubtful. And anyway, Dex doesn’t care about that.”
“Are you sure? And it’s already happening. His agent put him up for a big picture coming up at the studio that he’s perfect for. Like it was written for him. They flat out refused to cast him.”
“Did they say why?”
“Not specifically, but there were insinuations.”
Owen rolled his eyes. “It’s just business, Sam. Studios make business decisions. It’s not personal.”
Sam turned red. “You just won’t listen to reason, will you? You’re so caught up in your own filthy lifestyle, you just don’t give a fuck about anyone else.”
“They never cared about me before this. Why do they care now?”
“You know why. Marry the Henderson girl. If you have to keep on doing your thing on the side, then fine, but leave this house, come back to Los Angeles and marry Eloise Henderson. Have a few kids. A good family. And whatever you do privately, more discreetly, no one needs to know.”
“That would just solve everything for the Wentworths, would it?”
“Yes.”
“And how about what I want?”
“We all have to make sacrifices in life, Owen. You’re no different than anyone else.”
Owen set the glass on the little table. “No.”
A vein bulged on Sam’s forehead. “No?”
“I won’t marry Eloise Henderson or anyone else you and my father handpicked for me. No, I won’t leave this house and go back to Los Angeles. I’m staying here with Dex.” Owen shook his head. “I’m going for a swim. And you need to leave.”
Owen turned away and Sam’s mouth twisted into a snarl.
“You little prick!” Sam picked up the pitcher and swung it at Owen’s head. It made a horrible wet, whomping sound as it connected with the back of Owen’s skull.
For a brief moment, seconds really, Owen’s eyes widened in shock, then went lifeless as he fell into the pool…
The vision faded, and I realized I was crying and my head hurt. I actually checked the back of my head for blood. I found none. But God, emotional pain wracked my body. I held my stomach and rocked forward.
“I’m sorry,” Dex whispered. “I shouldn’t have let you see that.”
“God, that was me.”
“Yes.”
“I-I don’t even know how it’s possible, but I really was Owen Wentworth.”
Dex said nothing, just lowered his head.
“I felt that. I felt that whole thing. Everything. The anger, the hurt, the disappointment at having the same old arguments again and again, the love for you, the defiance. I felt it all, Dex. Like I was living it.”
“You were. You did.” He sighed. “I heard the commotion and the splash and I came running outside. Sam was pulling you out of the pool. I think he was a little shell-shocked about what he’d done. But it was too late.”
“That had to be…just awful.”
“Beyond anything I’d ever felt,” Dex admitted. “My world died with you. I went on for a time. But I never got any enjoyment out of life, or anything. There was no point anymore. I drowned myself in alcohol. Morphine. Heroin. Whatever I could get my hands on to numb the pain.”
“Until you were no more,” I whispered.
“We became the ultimate tragedy, you and me.”
I exhaled slowly in an attempt to gain control of myself. “You’ve remained trapped here ever since. Not moving on. Not having the other lives you were meant to have.”
Dexter said nothing.
“I know th
is is hard, baby, but you have to do this. You have to let go of Dexter and Owen. I want you so much. I love you. But unless you let go of that life, we’ll never get our future.” I touched his shoulder. “You see that, don’t you?”
“I love you. I’ve loved you for an eternity.”
“I know.”
He raised his head and looked around. “You’re staying? You aren’t going to sell?”
“I worked it out with Mace. I’m staying, Dexter. The house is mine.”
He nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. “I wanted so much to grow old together here. I mean, I knew it wasn’t realistic. It wasn’t even legal to be gay. But I wanted it. I wanted you.”
I rubbed his back but said nothing, letting him work through it.
His watery gaze met mine. “Okay. I’m ready. How do we do this?”
I certainly didn’t know. Before all this, I’d never believed ghosts existed. I pulled him into my arms, holding him so tight, if he were alive, he’d probably protest. Again, it struck me how real he felt.
“Dexter Martin Larabee, I set you free,” I whispered, renewed tears springing into my own eyes.
His body suddenly shimmied as I held him, no longer feeling solid, but becoming more and more transparent and wispy. I realized then, I was losing him. He was moving on.
“Owen,” he whispered before he disappeared altogether, leaving my arms empty.
“Goodbye, Dex. Godspeed.”
* * * *
Over the next few weeks, I began to work on the house anew, doing the work and renovations myself, aside from having the windows in all the upstairs rooms replaced by a professional company.
There remained no ghostly presence. But I continued to love the house and the changes I made.
Meanwhile, Mace finally solved his case, and he and Yanni came up to help settle things financially with the house and getting the shop idea started. They even stayed a few days in one of the spare rooms, with promises of maybe returning around Christmas.
The day after they’d left for LA, I found myself at a little wine place off the Embarcadero, sharing a bottle with only myself for company. In recent weeks, I’d become somewhat friendly with the owner. Now, I sat at the bar, my gaze half on the television playing nearby.
“Is anyone sitting here?” a deep voice asked.
I turned toward the person who’d spoken and almost fell off the stool. My heart began to pound hard and fast. And I felt a little dizzy. “Dex?”
The man frowned, confusion clouding his dark chocolate eyes as he looked back at me. He was incredibly handsome, with dark, salon-swept hair, and stubble across a strong jaw. Gorgeous. And the spitting image of Dexter Larabee.
“Um. No.” He took the seat next to me. “David, actually. David Laurens.”
“Julian Ridgley.” I took the hand he offered me and held it a moment before shaking it. I felt an odd tingly warmth.
He smiled. “Think I can have my hand back?”
I felt myself blush as I released it. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not so bad having a good-looking man hold my hand.”
I laughed.
“You look familiar. Have we met?”
Instead of answering, I asked, “You from this town?”
David shrugged. “Just got here, actually. Relocated from New York.”
“With your family? Or away from them?”
“Neither.” He smiled at the owner who came by to ask what he wanted to drink. “Glass of Pinot Noir, please.” He turned back to me. “No family.”
“None? Not even parents?”
“I was an orphan. Raised in foster homes, for the most part. Don’t really know much about my origins. I think they said they thought I was Irish and Italian or something.”
That was quite a thing, I thought. A guy who looked like he walked out of Dexter’s photo with an unknown family history couldn’t be a coincidence.
He got his wine and took a sip. “What about you? Are you from here?”
“Not originally. I was from Los Angeles. Bought a house here a little while ago. Actually, maybe you’ve seen it. Dexter Manor.”
His mouth fell open. “You own that house? It’s incredible.”
“I do,” I said with a laugh. “And it is incredible. Needs a lot of work, though, so I’ve been doing it.”
“That’s what I do.”
“What?”
“Construction.” He held out his callused hands. Definitely a far cry from the elegant, refined hands of Dexter. “Licensed and bonded. Got my own truck and tools. So, if you need any help or work done up there, I’d hope to be considered. I’d love to get my hands on a place like that. So rich in history with lots of character.”
My lips twitched. “I’m pretty sure I can find something for you to do on the house. I’m doing most of it myself, with the exception of those things I don’t know a lot about, but I can definitely use an extra pair of hands on a lot of the renovations.”
He wiggled on the stool while reaching into the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a wallet, withdrew a business card, and handed it to me.
Laurens Construction.
“How fortuitous,” I murmured.
“Yeah, really. And to think, I almost didn’t come in here tonight. Something just pulled me in.”
“Well, I’m very glad you did, David.”
He eyed my mostly empty bottle of wine. “Can I buy you another?”
“I think I’ve had enough. But, if you’re free, would you like to have dinner with me?”
He smiled, all gorgeous teeth. “I’d definitely like to have dinner. But let me buy.”
“We can argue about that later.” I laid out the money for my wine. “There’s this cozy little fish place just two doors down. We can walk easily.”
David finished his wine and paid. He slid off his stool. “Are you sure we’ve never met?”
“Actually,” I said as we exited, “I think maybe we have.”
THE END
ABOUT SHAWN LANE
Shawn Lane is a multi-published author of gay romances and believes love and passion know no boundaries. Happily Ever After is for everyone.
She has been published by Loose Id, Ellora's Cave, Amber Quill Press, Dreamspinner Press, and Evernight Publishing.
Shawn lives in California and holds down a boring day job in a legal department of a giant corporation dreaming of the nights and weekends when she can create new stories.
For more information, visit smlgr8.blogspot.com.
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